Cracks in the Ceiling
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: The ceiling was mocking the very metaphor Bosnia lived. Each crack represented some memory that had broken the way of life he had for good. When a piece fell from the ceiling, it meant to Bosnia that something had been lost permanently. And for that piece of the ceiling to have fallen just as Montenegro was leaving the apartment? It couldn't have just been a coincidence.


Late at night, Bosnia lay in bed awake, pale green eyes staring at the ceiling. His mind was full of spiraling thoughts, racing like cars on a figure-eight track, speeding and colliding in his head.

His memories, or at least the ones that weren't repressed, were keeping him from sleeping. Sure, not all of them were bad memories, but the ones that were took a significant amount of effort to shove back into the repression in his head where it came from.

Bosnia's head was like a bank, though a deplorable one. The currency passed in and out were minor memories, little details that caused no exact harm; those small details often combined to form what Bosnia kept in the metaphorical safe in the darkest depths of his mind. That safe Bosnia kept, no one knew the combination to. Only when certain triggers were pulled, could the partial memories in Bosnia's head be connected, and like a bomb blasting the safe door wide open, reveal the memories that the man tried never to remember.

Memories of starving refugees, memories of dead men tossed into pits and spit upon by enemy soldiers, memories of women raped repeatedly, and of those lucky enough to take their own lives before the enemy took them. Such things Bosnia did not want to release from the depths of his mind. Such things were too painful to dwell upon.

Staring up at the ceiling, he remembered so much. Bits and pieces of good and bad memories. He tried to connect the small good memories in his head to others to try to unlock the safe that was his repressed memories and bring back something positive to his scrambled mind. Without much success, he rolled over on his side with a sigh, only to see a familiar muscular figure standing in the doorway.

"Crna Gora? What're you doing here?" Bosnia asked the Montenegrin representation, who smiled slightly.

"You should really be asleep, Zlatko." Montenegro replied, voice slightly hoarse.

"As should you. Are you okay? It's not like you to come here all the way from Podgorica at a time like this." Bosnia sat up from his laying position on the bed and looked to the other man, concerned. Montenegro sighed shakily and walked further into the room, looking to a framed picture on the wall of Bosnia standing with a group of Bosnian soldiers from a recent year.

"You're not the only one with memories that come back to bite you in the ass." The man stated, turning around to face Bosnia.

"I'm quite aware of that… What's bothering you?" Bosnia asked, tilting his head slightly, curious and worried.

"It's… I-It's something I don't want to have to tell you, but… Just… Just promise me you won't get mad o-or hurt by any of what I'm about to say…" Montenegro looked to Bosnia with pleading eyes, and Bosnia nodded his head.

"I promise. Now tell me what's got you so…" Bosnia trailed off.

"So pathetic?" Montenegro chuckled sadly. "I-I suppose it's not just memories that have me this way, but also very recent mistakes I've made personally…" The brunet man fumbled with one of the five piercings in his right ear and leaned against the wall before continuing.

"Y-You probably know how Serbia and I… w-were in a relationship after the breakup of the second Yugoslavia… A-And how it ended when I got my independence from him. I… I went over to Novak's earlier today… A-And it was just friendly chatting and having a few drinks, you know? I still have a decent relationship with Serbia, even if it isn't romantic… b-but… I… He and I got to talking a-about the days of Yugoslavia, a-and why I chose to be with the people I did. Why I chose to be with Macedonia from the start of the first Yugoslavia up until the 70s…. Why I chose to be with you a few years after I broke up with Nikodemos… A-And I answered him honestly; I-I hate to be alone. I hate t-to have no one around to hold me and tell me things will be alright."

"I can understand that."

"I-I explained to him the straight facts a-about my love life. Macedonia… H-He may have just used m-me for sex or whatnot, but when I needed him to be there for me, h-he was there. H-He and I… We're both similar in many ways; we're both stubborn to a fault, we're both ambitious… Niko and I had a good run, a-and when it ended, I-I was sad for a while… but then I-I found a connection with you… a-and I… I fell in love with you. Which was great, b-because you loved me too… b-but… Serbia, th-the man I've supported for so long, hated me so much f-for wanting to be with you… I-It was utter blasphemy in h-his eyes for me to have gotten with the Muslim representation of Bosnia, Zlatko Pilav… Y-You pray to Allah, I-I pray to God, a-and he found s-so much wrong that you and I-I worshipped different Gods, and still do. Y-You and I have no problem with that, seeing that we were so deeply in love…"

"Wh-When Novak and I talked about the start of the 90s, a-and how I was forced to leave you… H-He criticized me and s-said that… that I-I didn't really love you, but I loved wh-what control I had over you… what… influence I-I had on you… I-I told him straight to his face that I-I wasn't going to listen to his bullshit, but… H-He brought up a very valid point that tore every bit of rage out of me and replaced it with pure regret and sorrow… H-He said, i-if I truly loved you, I would have gotten back with you as soon as I had my independence."

"H-He took advantage of the fact that I was so sorrowful when he said that, a-and…. H-He held me in his arms… a-and even though I wanted to run away from his affection… I-I gravitated towards the warmth he provided… I-I… I was delirious and a bit tipsy from drinking a-and… I kissed him… I fucking kissed him, a-and that started a Hell I-I just never want to remember… W-We ended up in the bedroom, under the sheets… a-and he loomed over me, staring me straight in the eyes and saying… 'Branko, you don't know what it's like to be in love. You've never suffered heartbreak so bad you tried to kill yourself, even when you know you can't die.'"

"… I told him, I-I've wanted to die so many times… He just smiled and kissed me… Wh-When he pulled away for breath he… he said 'Tell me, Montenegro… Do you see the scar on my temple?'…. I nodded, then he said 'I shot myself in the head with a pistol in 1992 when Croatia won his war. With such a low caliber bullet, it just ricocheted around in my head. I didn't even lose consciousness!' H-He shouted… H-He started to cry… a-and continued… 'I-I sobbed and sobbed, shooting myself once more… A-All because I was so heartbroken… Damn it I wanted to die!' He said. 'Why are we created just to live through hell? I loved Croatia, a-and I have no replacement for that hole in my heart but you!'…."

"I-I stared up a-at him, crying out, telling him that maybe he could run to me for his own needs, but I would never run to him… a-and he simply stated, 'Then what is this?'… r-referring to the fact that we were having sex… a-and… I… I-I just shut up from there… I-I could say no more to spare myself from the regret and the shame… G-God damn it, Bosnia… I-I hate Serbia so much; h-how come I keep ending up in his arms? H-How come it's so easy to fall right back i-into his traps and schemes? How come i-it's so hard t-to… to…"

"… to come back to me?" Bosnia finished the other man's sentence in a sad, quiet tone. "I don't know, Branko… The war… it changed me in ways that no one would have guessed… Sure, I've repressed a lot of the memories of the war, but… there are some things you just cannot lock away in the deepest parts of your mind… I've changed. And perhaps it's the fear of what I've repressed that's keeping us apart. Maybe it's Serbia. I'm not too sure… All I know, is that Serbia is no good to either of us. He hates me, when for the longest time we had gotten along decently… All he wants from you… He just wants you as a replacement for what he could no longer have. That is something he must deal with alone, though he wants to shove it off on someone innocent; you're his perfect target… That's how he managed to have sex with you again, and tell you all these things he wanted to tell you… You're his replacement. In the absence of Croatia, you fill the void in his heart."

"But I-I don't want to be Croatia's replacement… I-I want… I-I want to be yours again, Bosnia."

"Then allow it to be so. You just have to take small steps…" Bosnia stood and opened his arms, staring at the broken Montenegrin sadly. Montenegro took a few shaky steps before he reached Bosnia, and was pulled into the secure hold of the other man's arms. Montenegro cried into the older-looking Bosniak's shoulder, clinging to his t-shirt. Bosnia merely held him close, rubbing his back gently in attempts to comfort him.

"Everything will be alright, Branko. I promise, everything will be okay…" Bosnia said as he sat down on the bed with the other man, still holding him close. "I'm here… and nothing is going to change that… not my memories… not Serbia… not any of your mistakes you've made… I'll always be here for you…"

After a little while, Bosnia noticed the fact that Montenegro had quieted, and realized that the brunet had fallen asleep. Softly and carefully, as to not disturb the other's slumber, Bosnia laid him down on the bed gently, placing a blanket over him and sighing.

Deciding on having a cigarette to take the edge off of his uneasy mind, Bosnia stood and went out to the living room, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of a drawer on the end table beside the couch. He sat down and placed the cigarette between his lips, lighting it and taking a drag of the rather unhealthy habit.

As he exhaled the smoke, he stared up at the ceiling and counted the numerous cracks. He pondered; the relationships between each and every one of the former Yugoslav nations were like cracks in a ceiling. Before long, the cracks accumulate, and can't hold together anymore. The ceiling collapses and the damage is difficult to repair. The pieces can't simply be put back together with some charisma and romance. For a roof, it's as simple as calling someone who can repair the ceiling. For a relationship between immortal beings like nations; it takes years upon years to recover from holding on for so long to strings better left to fray. It takes years upon years to be able to love again, and even then, the representations change. Wars make a person better or worse, change their personalities and fears.

Bosnia never used to fear hospitals. But ever since he was treated poorly in a Serbian hospital as a practical hostage during the Bosnian War, he never sought treatment in a hospital for any ailments he had or any injuries he retained.

Once finished with his cigarette, Bosnia put it out in the ash tray, then went back to the bedroom. He changed his clothing so he wouldn't smell so much like cigarette smoke, then lay down next to Montenegro, propping himself up on one arm. With his free hand, he gently stroked the other man's cheek, blinking slowly, smiling sadly. Finally feeling tired, Bosnia lay back and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

When he awoke, Montenegro was just walking out of the bedroom door.

"Crna Gora…?" He called out quietly, sitting up. Montenegro looked over his shoulder and smiled sadly.

"Sorry, Zlatko, but… I can't stay." With that, the man made his exit, leaving the bedroom and furthermore the apartment.

Bosnia sat there silently, laying back down and staring up at the ceiling. There were cracks. As the front door to the apartment shut, a small piece of the ceiling fell, landing right on the left side of Bosnia's chest. He picked up the small piece and held it between his thumb and index fingers, looking at it.

Quietly, he shed a tear, knowing there were too many cracks around the area from where the piece had fell for the hole to be repaired without tearing down the entire ceiling.

The ceiling was mocking the very metaphor Bosnia lived. Each crack represented some memory that had broken the way of life he had for good. When a piece fell from the ceiling, it meant to Bosnia that something had been lost permanently.

And for that piece of the ceiling to have fallen just as Montenegro was leaving the apartment? It couldn't have just been a coincidence.

He had lost Montenegro.


End file.
